by R. J. Koreto
“I would love to have you there—but as a London lawyer, you’d make the servants nervous. They won’t suspect anything from a young lady who came just to pay off the servants, make sure accounts are up to date, and see the rugs get rolled up carefully. But teach me how to be clever like a lawyer.”
And Hal did. He explained about what to look for in bank books—were there inexplicable transfers of money? That might be a signal to casually ask servants about any changes around the same time. Bills for private messenger services may indicate something important and secret being shipped. Were typists or secretaries hired at any time? There was no telling what exactly Audendale’s connection with the manuscript might have been, but his paperwork could provide clues. Perhaps there were even old diaries that could help answer the question about why the Australians—at least some of them—detested him, although Colcombe and Charles both held him in esteem.
“It seems like such a muddle. Violence is following this manuscript, but I can’t see who’s pulling the strings. People seem to think I may have it, but whatever gave them that idea?”
“Did you study Latin at Vassar?” asked Hal.
“Yes, a little. Caesar marching through Gaul and Virgil going on and on about shepherds.”
Hal laughed. “Exactly. I ask because lawyers love Latin. And there’s one phrase in particular we like: cui bono?”
“‘To whose benefit?’” said Frances.
“Yes. Why should someone want the manuscript published? Why should someone want it hidden?”
“But we don’t even know what’s in it. No one seems to know,” said Frances.
“Yes. I find that very interesting,” said Hal. “Don’t you?”
Frances sliced another bite of chicken. “It doesn’t seem to matter with the fear it has created. Men are dead because of it.”
“Men? I know of Daniel Colcombe. But who else?”
Of course, she hadn’t told him about Barnstable. Frances told him quickly about their meeting and how she was summoned to the site of his death.
“I didn’t realize quite how deeply you were committed to this, Franny. Multiple murders and Scotland Yard inspectors. You’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest.”
“I should be frightened, I know. But I do believe I have a guardian angel.”
“That’s a little fanciful for you,” said Hal.
She told him everything and was touched to see how concerned he was. “So you see, I was stalked in the mews—but my pursuer was knocked out before he could reach me. Then a man attacked Mr. Bramwell, and I escaped. But the attack was well planned. If they had wanted to get me, I think they could’ve. Why didn’t they? And after a man threatened me in the Red Kangaroo, he was given a thorough beating just moments later. I’m surrounded by violence—but it hasn’t really touched me.”
“And what do you conclude?”
“Nothing—yet. But I have some ideas. And don’t worry. Mallow is prepared to defend me with a fearsome rolling pin.”
Hal laughed. And it was time to change the subject, Frances concluded. The man was courting her, and she was talking about murder. Also, even with his liberal outlook, he’d eventually try to talk her out of any further involvement.
“But enough of this. You have been very helpful, and now I want to hear about you. Tell me about your next painting project. You do marvelously with seascapes; why not try outdoors in London? Landscapes in the park?”
Hal looked a little uncomfortable. “You don’t think it would seem a somewhat . . . foolish pastime if a business acquaintance saw me?”
Frances shook her head. “As I said, my brother plays golf. Badly. And there are men who stand in cold water trying to catch trout. Why is painting in oils foolish? Perhaps if you were forthright about it, you would change the opinions of others. You would be a leader—start a fashion.”
Hal cocked his head and thought about it. “Lady Frances, I love the way you look at the world.”
“Mr. Wheaton, you do give the nicest compliments.”
After dinner, Hal and Frances had brandy in the lounge along with a few residents who were reading a novel or a lady’s magazine or busying themselves with embroidery. She could sense his disappointment they didn’t have the room to themselves. However, they didn’t have to wait long—soon the other women said good night. And Frances was sure at least one of them flashed a knowing smile.
“Franny—” he said, and he had that look about him she recognized, that he was about to say something important, something he had thought about. “There is no one like you. I realize that more and more. Still, I knew your father. I can’t imagine that you—even you—were able to persuade him to let you study in America.”
Hal wanted to know more about her. Well, she’d tell him.
“Yes, ‘even me.’ It was my mother in the end. Father was convinced I’d do something to embarrass the family horribly if I wasn’t watched every moment. My mother told him that I’d embarrass the family right here in London. If I were in America, my antics would occur among people who didn’t know us. The logic was inescapable.”
She had expected that would make Hal laugh or at least smile, but he looked serious.
“I can’t imagine you doing anything to embarrass your family,” he said.
Oh really? thought Frances. “When I was twelve, at our country estate, I was so furious I had to ride sidesaddle that I dressed myself in one of Charles’s outgrown pairs of pants and sneaked onto his already saddled horse. I scandalized half the county before they caught up with me.
“Then my debutante year, going out of my mind with boredom at the so distinguished Brantley House ball, I convinced half a dozen other young ladies to abandon their chaperones and join me in a champagne-drenched carriage ride through the park in the middle of the night. It took a long time for my father to forgive that particular escapade.
“And,” she continued, “all of that paled in comparison with the time—the first time—my family found out I not only had visited Scotland Yard but had done so alone. At least my father had been somewhat amused when his assistant at the Foreign Office had nervously told him that the newest applicant for a junior clerk position in his department was his own daughter—but for a lady to involve herself with the police!
“And finally, dear Hal, do you want to hear about my speaking in the park about universal suffrage? That was more outrageous than anything previous, as far as the family was concerned. Have you really given any thought to the fact that I’ve actually involved myself in a murder investigation? And it would take another evening just to take in my American antics. If my parents knew half of what I did . . .”
Frances hadn’t realized at first what she was doing. An amusing story had become an outpouring, and now she just sat there watching Hal, unable to read his placid face. He, in turn, looked at her, defiance all over her face—but did he see a little fear there too?
After a few moments, Hal put the palm of his hand on her cheek, then he leaned in and, as she closed her eyes, gave her an unbearably sweet kiss.
“I know your feelings about me and about marriage. But I will tell you now, I don’t see how I could go back to a life without you. Have a good journey and know that I will come at a moment’s notice if you want me. Thank you for dinner and good night.”
She walked him to the door and said a final good-night. When he was gone, her first thought was that, once more, a man had left her speechless. She was certainly learning a thing or two, including the extent of her own ignorance. Frances was pleased she had not disenchanted Hal. And he never told her to stop what she was doing. He kept surprising her.
After the carriage stunt with the other debutantes, her father had threatened to send her to live at a grimly austere Spanish convent he knew of—never mind that the Seaforths were solid members of the Church of England. Now, as she tried to sort out her feelings for Hal and Gareth, Frances realized that there was no doubt nunnery life would’ve simplified many things.
CHAPTER 15
&nb
sp; Frances and Mallow left the hotel before breakfast the next morning to catch an early train. Mallow had packed fully but efficiently, and the cab brought them in plenty of time to the station. As usual, Frances had purchased two round-trip, first-class tickets. It was more practical—as well as more fun—to have Mallow with her on the train trip than by herself in a third-class car.
The trip to the coast to visit Dorothy had been pleasant, but this was a much more elegant train, which served a full breakfast. It was a pleasure seeing how much Mallow enjoyed herself, taking such a childlike delight in watching the world go by. For all her maid had picked up from the duties, routines, and manners of London’s high society, Frances realized she was barely twenty and had seen little of the world.
“Although it’s a large house, the staff is small,” said Frances. “Only one man, practically bedridden, lived there. We are to start the process of shutting up the house, although most of it is already closed up, and seeing the servants understand the terms of the master’s will. I heard from the lawyers that General Audendale left them well-provided for.”
“That’s very kind of him, my lady,” said Mallow emphatically. Of course, realized Frances, Mallow would think that. Some were nicer than others to servants who couldn’t work anymore or who were left unemployed by death after decades of serving one family. Did Mallow, even at her young age, think about what would happen when she couldn’t work anymore? Would the Seaforths take care of her? Would the Seaforths still be around? Perhaps marriage and the security that comes from a man with a good job and children to take care of her would be better for her.
Of course, the Seaforths always took care of their servants, but it wasn’t right that servants had to be dependent on good graces. That is yet one more thing that needs to be changed, thought Frances.
“I know it really isn’t your place, but would you help with beds and other domestic activities?”
“Of course, my lady.”
Frances knew Mallow would be agreeable, but it was wise to acknowledge that she was being asked to perform duties beneath those of a lady’s maid. “And there may be a bit of a treasure hunt, going through the papers, as we did at the Colcombe house. But even more complicated.”
“Very good, my lady. May I pour you some more tea?”
“Yes, thank you. And I’ll be counting on you to talk to the servants, pick up gossip, and so forth. They may not even know what they know, if you get my meaning. The general’s manservant, Tredwell, was almost slavishly loyal. A rather odd man. We’ll see if we can draw him out.”
“Of course, my lady. Remember old Sir Joshua Fleet, my lady? Had the same valet for forty years, and when Sir Joshua died, the valet’s mind just slipped away. That’s what they said. The family had to put him in a sort of home.”
“Yes, Mallow. I think we may be seeing something similar here.”
After breakfast, there was time for reading and knitting and watching the villages pass by. As before, they were the only ones alighting at Grenville, and Tredwell was there to greet them. He looked somber and wore a black armband.
“Very good to see you again, my lady, although I wish it were in better circumstances.”
“Thank you. Mallow, this is Mr. Tredwell, the late general’s manservant. Tredwell, this is Miss Mallow, my personal maid, who will be assisting me over the next few days.”
“Yes, my lady. We have rooms prepared . . . and that’s all right, Miss Mallow, I can take the bags. My leg’s a bit crooked, gives me some pain in the wet weather, but not weak for all that.”
Mallow reluctantly gave up the bags to Tredwell and approached the cart with a little trepidation—this was no elegant carriage, London hansom, or even his lordship’s motorcar. It was little better than the delivery cart when they visited Mrs. Tregallis. But Tredwell treated Mallow the same as he treated Lady Frances, helping both up.
“I hear the funeral was yesterday,” said Frances, once they were on their way.
“Yes, my lady, and there will be a memorial service in London in the coming days, so all who served under him can pay their respects.”
Charles would take his uniform out of the back of his closet and attend, Frances knew. She did not expect the regulars at the Red Kangaroo, however.
“If I may be so bold, my lady, and speaking on behalf of the rest of the staff, we’re pleased you’re coming to help us get settled, as it were. That is, a friend of the family’s.”
“Thank you, Tredwell. And I am sure I can count on the staff’s full cooperation.” There was a hint of steel in her voice. Frances recalled her mother’s words: “You may learn history and literature and math from your tutors, dear daughter, but from me, you will learn how to run a household.”
“Of course, my lady. Mrs. Scotley, who’s a sort of cook/housekeeper, has had Gladys, who is a sort of maid of all work, prepare rooms.”
Mallow looked a little surprised. In her experience, maids had very specific jobs, and no one would confuse a housekeeper with a cook. Apologetically—and more to Mallow than to Lady Frances—Tredwell said, “It wasn’t always this way. The house used to be better staffed. Then Mrs. Audendale passed on and his daughter got married and moved away. He got old and tired, and servants died or moved on. I was all that was left from the old days. Just the two of us. As God is my witness, I would’ve given my life for my master.” He went into a brooding stare at that, and Mallow and Frances met each other’s eyes.
When they arrived at Egdon Hall, Tredwell said he’d see to the horse and would make himself available whenever her ladyship wanted. He passed the women on to Gladys, the maid Frances remembered from last time, who was waiting to greet them.
“We have prepared food and drink for you, my lady. I will bring a tray to you in the master’s sitting room. And you, Miss . . .”
“This is Miss June Mallow, my personal maid.”
“You are most welcome to join us in the servants’ hall, Miss Mallow.”
“Thank you,” said Frances. “But you have plenty do, and we don’t want to make additional work for you. I need a look at the whole house anyway, so rather than have you carry trays upstairs, Mallow and I will both join you in the servants’ hall.” Frances wanted to see what was happening with the household.
“Oh, yes, if you wish, my lady.”
The kitchen and the accompanying servants’ hall were clean and orderly, a sign that someone cared. That person seemed to be Mrs. Scotley, the so-called cook/housekeeper who was having a cup of tea herself. She was a spare woman in her sixties with iron-gray hair slipping out from her cap. She stood quickly, surprised, when Frances and Mallow entered.
“Oh, my lady. I didn’t expect you.” She shot a sharp look at the Gladys. “You were supposed to be shown to the master’s sitting room.”
“Don’t blame Gladys,” said Frances cheerfully. “I wanted to see the kitchen and meet you and didn’t want to make work carrying trays.”
“Very good, my lady. Please have a seat.” Introductions were made, and Gladys served tea along with scones and cakes. “Hired as a cook, I was, some twenty years ago,” said Mrs. Scotley. “I’m a good plain cook, none of your fancy French food, but I can do solid English cooking.”
“And a fine baker,” said Frances. “I had these cakes when I last visited the general. I assume they are yours?”
Mrs. Scotley smiled briefly. “Thank you, my lady. I always did have a deft hand with cakes, if I may say so. Not that there’s been much call now. Things changed over the years. I became more of a housekeeper. Not that there’s much of a house to keep anymore.” She grimaced and drank her tea.
“No visitors to cook for? The general didn’t entertain?”
“No, my lady. He had spent so much time away, he didn’t know many of the people thereabouts anymore. They had died, moved away—”
“Oh, but remember, Mrs. Scotley—” Gladys broke in.
“Yes, the vicar once or twice for tea and the solicitor for lunch, that hardly counts,” said
Mrs. Scotley, and she gave Gladys another sharp look. That was interesting, thought Frances. They had been here only a few minutes, and already Mrs. Scotley was lying to her. Something to come back to later. Meanwhile, Mrs. Scotley quickly changed the subject.
“You’ll be wanting a full account, my lady. I’ve kept the books accounting for every penny.” She almost dared anyone to disagree.
“I have no doubt, Mrs. Scotley,” said Frances.
“I also have the key to the master’s suite. In the final days, he had a nurse with him at all times, and when the end came, the doctor came, and the local solicitor, too. The room was locked, and I was given the key. I have it still, my lady.”
“Have the solicitors been back?”
“They said they had the papers they needed and would send what was necessary to the general’s daughter in India.”
“Thank you for being so strict in your duties. But why was the key not given to Tredwell, as the master’s manservant?”
“My lady, if I am to take on the duties of housekeeper, I will accept the responsibilities. I don’t know what Tredwell has said, but it would’ve been inappropriate for anyone but me to have charge. Anyway, Tredwell has his own cottage on the estate and so is not around all the time except when the general is doing poorly.”
“Did Mr. Tredwell help the general with his papers at all?”
“Hardly, my lady. Tredwell was not very comfortable with his letters.”
Ah, he is illiterate.
Then, perhaps feeling she had been overly critical of Tredwell, Mrs. Scotley added, “Tredwell may not complain—he’s a good, hard worker—but his leg has been giving him trouble of late. The general sent him to doctors in London. He’s been away some.”
“That’s kind of the general, and of course, you were right to take charge,” said Frances soothingly. “But all this can wait until later. Let us finish this lovely tea, and then, Gladys, you can show me and Mallow to our rooms.”
So Tredwell couldn’t read. Illiterate men would have a hard time with any task involving a manuscript, Frances mused.
